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She tells me she wants to be a baker, that it’s been her dream since she was young. I taste the cakes she’s prepared and I’ll admit – she is good. Her dream is to open a shop and delight the city’s sweet-seekers. I taste my new acquaintance’s sugary confection and imagine a life withContinue reading “Imagining a Life with Her”

In a diner on the side of the highway my shaking hand pours coffee, flips burgers as my cigarette takes orders at the bar. We have hot soup-du-jour, burgers, and eggs for the hitchers, truckers, and farmers who dust themselves by the door and chat about the weather. Doris DeLynn, with her big hair, andContinue reading “Greasy Spoon Day-Dreaming”

if my hands were the limbs of my mind I would understand women if my tongue could speak the words and emotion lapped from your cunt then I would know you inside out if you could hold my cock like something more than a toy maybe we could be happy perhaps if we try weContinue reading “Rust”

It just didn’t make sense. Not yet at least. Questions buzzed his skull like hummingbirds on a vengeful tear, and he had not the answers with which to sate them. Perhaps if he drank enough, they would come. Perhaps if he sat at the bar long enough, the world would simply move on. Perhaps, heContinue reading “Hummingbirds”

Chapter One: The Great Gig in the Sky December 24th, 2012 London, UK 1. The greatest rock guitarist this undeserving world ever knew is dead. He died three days ago. Doomsday. The whole world was supposed to end. For Woody Lee, it did.

Trauma. The word lands heavy, evoking thoughts of a fragile mind subjected to extreme instances of devastation, violence, brutality, and depravity. Googling the word itself yields this definition: “A deeply distressing or disturbing experience.” It goes on to offer a tangible example in a sentence: “A personal trauma, like the death of a child.”

The mind that for I can only fathom a guess over two decades has been for whatever ill-conceived reason protected from harm and damage inside a skull, behind eyes, atop a body, whose digits drum incessantly in intrusively noisy percussion on the hard and hollow table-top, is a mind that seems to me allergic toContinue reading “Do You Mind?”

~Part Five~ “Hello,” you say. A moment, then the man calls back. “Are you all right?” You think about the question. Are you all right? Are you? The query confounds you. You look down at your hands, as thought they might be holding some answer. Before you can say anything in response, “Do you wanna lift?”Continue reading “Back on Earth”